Chapter 2

"What are you talking about!"

Carl shot up off the floor and gripped my shoulders hard.

Then, as if he'd caught the sharpness in his own voice,

he reached up and tucked the sweat-damp hair off my forehead behind my ear.

When his fingers met my tear-wet face,

his hand froze for a beat, and a long sigh came up out of his chest.

His voice went softer after that.

"Martha, you know that's not what I meant..."

"Enough."

Gently, he wiped my tears away.

"By the time I got here the doctor was already off shift. How are you feeling? Is the baby okay?"

I turned my head slowly and looked at him,

one hand on the belly that had already gone flat, ready to speak,

when his phone rang.

He glanced at the number, hit answer, and stepped out of the room.

Soon his lowered, tender voice drifted back in through the door.

"Sweetheart, there really is something going on at the hospital. An hour at least..."

"Okay, okay, fine, twenty minutes. Twenty minutes and I'll be standing right in front of you, I promise."

The call ended, and Carl pushed the door open from outside.

"Martha..."

"If you've got something to do, go."

Even in the dark, I felt him let out a breath of relief.

He came forward and tried to take my hand, but I pulled away.

"Martha, as long as you and the baby are all right, that's what matters. I know it's been hard on you. Once the baby's born, I'll make it up to you, I promise."

Before I could answer,

he was already gone from the room.

I forced myself to lift my phone, found the divorce agreement, and sent it to him.

A red exclamation mark again...

A wave of complete helplessness swept over me.

Five years.

It wasn't that we'd never fought, never had it out.

But it went like this every time.

Carl would coax me in that gentle voice, and every time nothing changed, not by the smallest measure.

I didn't want to stay in that room reeking of disinfectant any longer,

so I called a car and left the hospital.

When the driver asked for the address,

I gave my parents' old house without thinking.

Maybe, from the moment I'd made up my mind to divorce him,

the home Carl and I shared had stopped being a home to me...

Maybe, all these years, it had never been my home at all.

Breathing in the familiar old smell of the stairwell,

my heart finally settled, just a little.

My parents had been gone three years. Afraid of what old things would stir up, I'd left the house for Carl to look after,

but I'd told him once,

never, ever to touch anything here, not even the newspapers scattered on the table,

that this was the mark of my parents' life,

that with them gone, this was the only way left to remember them.

The pain stabbed through my lower belly again.

I pressed my hand to the smart lock.

"Fingerprint not recognized."

The crisp little chime left me frozen where I stood.

I thought the lock had just worn out, and I kept pressing my finger to it again and again, but each time it was the same chime.

Fighting the pain, I bent down and keyed in the passcode.

"Sorry, incorrect passcode."

The fingerprint might fail, but the code was my parents' birthdays. I couldn't have gotten it wrong.

I bent down again and pressed in the code.

One digit short of finishing,

a soft, girlish voice came from inside the door.

"Who is it, out there pressing my lock over and over in the middle of the night...?"

Before the words had settled, the door was pulled open from within.

The instant our eyes met, I froze where I stood...